I can see my baby sleeping
I know how she will look dead
Hooded lids in an Egyptian head
Turn for what I cannot see
The small arm extends
Toward something that has passed
And even so still lingers by her bed
Her bones are light
Three weeks in our keeping
She joins and leaves the other worlds
They weave her still
In a blind sure airy loom
But I will stay until this wall is dark
She may wake and want me in the room